


A Strong and Steady Whisper

by the_7th_swan



Series: A Silver and Scarlet Claim [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, BDSM elements, Bonding, Bottom Tony, M/M, Marking, Supernatural Elements, Top Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_7th_swan/pseuds/the_7th_swan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world consisting entirely of Vampires, Gibbs finds his day disrupted by Tony’s sudden decision to discard his collar and look for a mate. Gibbs is forced to kick things up a notch, ward off lecherous Vampires who attempt to claim his territory and try not to let his distraction interfere with solving the case. Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strong and Steady Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Though this IS a companion story (and therefore not technically a sequel) I would still recommend reading ‘A Small But Precious Thing’ first. Also, all the poems are mine. Please ask permission if you'd like to take or use them.

_Can’t you see the obvious?_  
_Why can’t you understand?_  
_It’s clear as day, its black and white,_  
_It’s easy and its planned._  
_Yet people disregard it_  
_This one essential truth_  
_They pass it by nonchalantly_  
_Ignorant, uncouth._  
_But you have no excuse_  
_Though you say you didn’t know_  
_Just who are you really lying to?_  
_And what are you trying to sow?_  
_For me it’s a glaring nylon mark_  
_Uncomplicated, yet divine_  
_It’s a single, cold hard fact:_  
_I simply_ know _you're mine._  
  
**A Strong and Steady Whisper**

  
There were many skills that Gibbs had been forced to cultivate as his years as a Marine and then, later, as an NCIS agent. Tuning out those in authority, however, was definitely the one he used most.  
  
The Styrofoam coffee cup was depressingly light. Holding it loosely at his side, Gibbs absently worked his fingernails into the pliable material and tried to make it seem he was actually listening to whatever drivel Leon Vance was currently spouting… something about his handling of the last suspect. Gibbs didn’t really care two shits for the protocol he was rattling on about, but he’d been in this business long enough to know he had to at least act as if he did.  
  
After so many years of experience, it wasn’t hard. In many ways, Vance was actually easier to handle than Jenny Sheppard had ever been. For starters, Vance never tried to seduce him, nor had they ever ended up in bed together. Thank god for that.  
  
“You got that Gibbs?” Vance asked sharply, the toothpick momentarily hanging motionless in his mouth.  
  
“I got it,” Gibbs lied immediately.  
  
“Good,” Vance snapped, the expression in his eyes saying he didn’t believe Gibbs’ sincerity for a moment. That’s how it was between them: Vance pretended to tell him off and Gibbs pretended to listen. Oddly, it was a system that worked, for the most part. “Dismissed.”  
  
Gibbs lingered a second longer than necessary (partly to send the message that he followed Vance’s orders only when they suited him and partly to be a dick) before leaving.  
  
He shut the door firmly behind him and let out an irritated breath as he crushed the Styrofoam cup to nothing, throwing it abruptly into the bin by the secretary’s desk. Wendy all but jumped out of her skin at the abrupt motion, letting a little squeak of fear escape her lips as she did so. Since pointless meetings like the one he’d just suffered through left him ornery and liable to lash out, Gibbs glared at her darkly before he swept out of the office.  
  
His bloody team better _not be slacking off._  
  
Making his way quickly down the silver steps, he took in the way his team were positioned, rapidly taking in their relaxed stances. Wishing fiercely for some coffee, he felt his mood darken further.  
  
“-call,” Ziva was saying when he was close enough to overhear them.  
  
“We get something?” he demanded viciously, making short work of the few steps before him and eying his team dangerously.  
  
It satisfied something inside him when they all jumped at his sudden appearance. He knew it was only a matter of time before he wasn’t able to sneak up on them anymore and the darkly sadistic part of him was determined to enjoy it while it could.  
  
Of course it was Tim, the youngest of them all, who hastened to reply, no doubt eager to placate him.  
  
“No boss,” he assured earnestly, “Nothing.”  
  
That was the wrong answer.  
  
“Then who the hell called?” he demanded, swearing that if Tim didn’t come up with a good reply there would be hell to pay.  
  
“No one called,” Tim protested, his voice a little higher than usual. Gibbs allowed his darkening expression to be his demand for clarification and, steeling himself, Tim quickly admitted the truth, “We were just talking about Nathan Reynolds.”  
  
“He’s shown an interest in Tony,” Ziva supplied sweetly, sending a truly evil smirk Tony’s way.  
  
Gibbs couldn’t stop the huff that escaped him. Of course, the goofing off could be tracked back to DiNozzo. He was constantly the epicentre of any mischief caused. Though the name Nathan Reynolds did surprise him slightly. As far as he knew, the man hadn’t shown a serious interest in DiNozzo in the ten years his Senior Officer had worked here.  
  
He turned to Tony, prepared to rip his Second a new one but all words escaped him the second he actually looked at the man. And, more importantly, at what _wasn’t_ around his neck.  
  
“Where’s your collar?”  
  
“It’s not a collar,” Tony shot back, giving a fairly typical response. Taking in that smooth expanse of exposed skin, Gibbs was in no mood to play games. Something dark, something primal, snarled inside him and, channelling that, Gibbs pegged Tony with a look. Tony hurriedly moved on, “I mean, I’m not wearing it today boss.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see that DiNozzo,” Gibbs growled, his instincts swarming to the surface, “Why the hell not?”  
  
If DiNozzo had taken his collar off for someone specific then so help him _god_ …  
  
“Er…I’m not going to wear it anymore boss,” Tony offered at last, all but squirming in his chair, “I’ve decided to look for a mate.”  
  
For a long second Gibbs just stared at his senior agent, not entirely sure that he’d heard him correctly. He held his gaze so long that Tony chanced a bemused glance towards Tim and Ziva, both of whom looked just as puzzled as he did. Gibbs ignored the action completely, focused as he was on Tony’s words.  
  
Look for a mate, Tony had said. _Look_ for. That implied _not having found_. Which was good. He’d rather _not_ have to kill anyone.  
  
The blare of a phone interrupted his train of thought and, desperately, Tim all but dove for it, scrambling to pick it up.  
  
“McGee,” he cried, careful to avoid looking at any of them, “Uh-huh. Right. Got it, thanks.”  
  
Before he was even halfway though that rather stinted conversation, Tony and Ziva were gathering up their gear. Normally he’d feel a flush of pride at the reminder of just how well he’d trained them but today, now, he had eyes only for Tony and the vast expanse of space that was his neck.  
  
“We got a case,” McGee announced pointlessly, quickly scooping up his own bag.  
  
The reminder, though unnecessary, spurred Gibbs to get his game face back on and, tearing his gaze away, he marched determinedly towards the elevator, his mind working furiously all the way.  
  
His team followed right on his heels and Gibbs forced himself to focus, forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead.  
  
But all his famous self-control had deserted him. And, worse still, Gibbs couldn’t care less. All he cared about was the fact that Tony _wasn’t wearing his collar._  
  
Which meant, in layman’s terms, that anyone could claim him.  
  
That realization sent a wave of fury and possessiveness though him that was so strong, Gibbs felt his fangs descend. Really, it was a good thing he was able to stop himself attacking anyone as they walked thorough security to the car and he observed just how many vampires seemed to be eyeing the newly available submissive up.  
  
Gibbs would walk over hot coals before he allowed another vampire to claim what he’d spent years waiting for.  
  
Ten years, to be precise. From the moment a cocky Detective had tackled him to the ground, managing a smart-aleck grin despite the fact that the tackle had hurt them both. Gibbs had taken one look at those eyes, at that smile, and had wanted to rip that godforsaken collar right off his damn throat.  
  
The reaction was instinctive, coming right from his gut and, at first, Gibbs hadn’t known how the fuck to deal with it. He hadn’t felt such an instant desire to take, to uncover, to _dominate_ , since Shannon. Frankly, feeling it again had left him more rattled than he cared to admit.  
  
With Shannon, he’d perused it at once. With DiNozzo, he’d taken the slower approach. He watched and he waited and he learned.  
  
Tony wore jokes like clowns wore masks. He was goofy and immature and annoying. He was also amazingly brilliant, unfalteringly loyal, infuriatingly charismatic and, in all, the best man Gibbs had ever had the pleasure of meeting.  
  
He also had an insecurity streak over a mile wide. Though half of Tony longed fiercely to belong somewhere, belong _to_ someone, the other half had been utterly terrified of the absolute submission such a sense of belonging would entail.  
  
Gibbs had known, down to his very marrow, that perusing Tony would only serve to drive him away. Tony, that young brash detective from so many years before, hadn’t been ready to take what Gibbs wanted to offer. The way he had flinched every time he’d seen a vampire with a marking mate only served to prove his point.  
  
As so, Gibbs had settled down to do what every good sniper does best: wait.  
  
He’d waited and he’d waited and he’d _still_ somehow managed to miss whatever revelation Tony had come to that had made him discard his collar. Gibbs had never meant the man to be without it –it stopped others from making any serious moves and he’d figured he would know when Tony was ready to start thinking about settling down. He would have wooed Tony slowly, not wanting to frighten him, and, in due course, would have removed the collar to replace it with his mark.  
  
Trust Tony to flush all his plans down the shitter in under three minutes.  
  
Abruptly slamming on the breaks (jolting both Ziva and Tim so badly that they jerked in place) Gibbs parked the car in front of the crime scene and tried to force his personal issues to the back of his mind. He’d have time later to plan his next move in regards to Tony. Right now he had a case to solve.  
  
He made his way to the house before him, single-mindedly ignoring the many flashing Christmas lights and the stationary ambulance. His eyes flicked momentarily to the woman sitting in the back, another vampire tending to her gently and a young boy clasped desperately at her side. Her eyes were wide and distressed, constantly returning to observe the house her husband’s body now lay in while a hand methodically stroked her child’s side in absent reassurance. Gibbs caught a quick glimpse of the claiming mark on her neck, now devoid of any silver and reduced to a mere scar, before he focused his attention back on the crime scene.  
  
The door was already hanging ajar and, reminding himself that a mother and child were counting on him to bring this man’s murderer to justice, he stepped through to observe the body lying in the hallway.  
  
Still in his pyjamas, the two blood-soaked stains on his chest made it apparent, even to Gibbs, what the cause of death had been.  
  
His team fanned out around him, Tony at once taking out a sketchpad while Tim began tagging and Ziva began photographing. They worked together without saying a word, weaving in and out of each other’s space with a flawlessness that only came with years of practice. Gibbs nodded to himself and, knowing he’d be useless around Tony, stalked out of the house and made his way back to the ambulance.  
  
The woman and her son were in exactly the same position, huddled under a thick blanket the ambulance officer had thrown over them. She saw Gibbs coming and, leaving the duo with a few quietly spoken words, cut him off.  
  
“Her name is Simone Witt,” she informed him, pitching her voice low, “The boy is Nathan. She’s unharmed but she’s also in quite a bit of shock. I’d suggest you proceed with care.”  
  
Gibbs nodded sharply, pushing past her to approach the woman. Simone Witt was still young , far too young to be a widow. Her gaze, which had seemed unsettlingly distant, drifted to him listlessly as she registered his approach. Gibbs softened his expression as much as he could and crouched slightly before her in order to better meet her eyes.  
  
“Mrs Witt?” he began gently, “I’m Special Agent Gibbs. Can you tell me what happened here?”  
  
Mrs Simone Witt swallowed heavily as she nodded, a pale slim hand reaching up to brush against her own throat, her pinkie finger just barely brushing against the scar that had once been her claiming mark.  
  
Gibbs felt a fierce sense of sympathy shoot through him at the gesture. Having had to live through exactly the same thing, he knew only too well what she was feeling. A claiming mark established a bond so strong that having it severed was the equivalent of losing a limb. Gibbs had spent the first month endlessly trying to reach out to something no longer there and the loss of that mental connection, of that bond, had been like losing her again every day. It got easier as your body adjusted to the change but it had been years before Gibbs had felt anything but half-complete. Another reason he had chosen the path of caution when confronted with one Anthony DiNozzo.  
  
“The gunshots woke me,” Simone answered at last, her hands clutching her son so tightly that the hold had to be slightly painful. The boy gave no indication he felt anything at all. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I… I ran out and Kyle… my husband was just… just lying there.”  
  
Her voice pattered out and, visibly composing herself, she took a deep breath and continued.  
  
“The front door was open so I ran outside but… I couldn’t see anything. It was too dark. That’s when I called the ambulance.”  
  
“Good,” Gibbs praised her gently, “That’s very good. And you, Nathan? What did you see?”  
  
The boy didn’t so much as twitch. For all the world like Gibbs hadn’t spoken at all. His eyes merely continued to stare blankly into nothing and even when Gibbs tried to adjust himself to meet the child’s eyes they were completely unreachable.  
  
“He slept through the shots,” Simone volunteered quietly, burying her face into her son’s hair, “But he hasn’t said a word since I carried him out of the house and over his… over his father’s body.”  
  
The boy gave no reaction to that statement and Gibbs felt a tremor of disquiet. He was good with children, he _knew_ he was good with children, and he read them pretty well. This boy didn’t match the countenance of one who had seen and heard nothing. Such a profound state of shock did not arise from merely glimpsing death, especially whilst in the arms of an overprotective mother who would have done her best to avert his eyes.  
  
Something here wasn’t adding up.  
  
Simone pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her son’s head, studiously avoiding Gibbs as she did so. Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs caught sight of Ducky making his way to the house. Leaving the newly made widow where she sat, Gibbs straightened to his full height and followed quickly after him, entering moments after Ducky did and nodding a short greeting.  
  
“Anthony!” Ducky exclaimed as soon as he caught sight of the man, “Your neck! Could it be that you've discarded your covering at last?”  
  
“All your advice has finally paid off,” Tony replied breezily, shooting the ME a smile.  
  
“It's about time,” Ducky grumbled, going to kneel at the body and looking it over carefully, “What made you change your mind?”  
  
It seemed that every part of Gibbs froze at the question, straining as it was for the answer. Tony hesitated, biting his lip as Gibbs watched and _willed_ him to answer. Finally, he did.  
  
“I got sick of pretending,” he said softly, a faint rosy blush creeping its way across his cheeks. From that alone, Gibbs knew he was telling the truth. “I just... want a place to belong. I won't find it by keeping myself walled away from the world.”  
  
“Tony…” Tim managed breathily, looking taken aback.  
  
“Don’t,” Tony forestalled him at once, holding up a hand and trying a smile, “I’m allergic to sentimentality.”  
  
“Ducky?” Gibbs demanded, wanting to get the hell off the subject before he caved to his instincts and pinned Tony down right here and now just to show the boy that he didn’t have to look –Gibbs knew _exactly_ where he belonged and had known all along.  
  
“Cause of death is a gunshot wound to the heart,” Ducky obliged, “Which I'm sure you've deduced for yourselves. What I can also tell you, and what might interest you Jethro, is that the body has been moved.”  
  
“Moved?” Tony repeated, sharp as a tack and latching onto the word at once, “What did the wife say boss?”  
  
“That she was woken by gunshots and ran to discover her husband dead and the front door open,” Gibbs answered, scowling slightly. The woman had seemed genuinely distressed and yet she’d lied right to his face. Either she was a hell of an actor or this day was about to go drastically downhill.  
  
“The murderer wouldn't have had time to move him, were that the case,” Tony pointed out thoughtfully, “Did the boy say anything?”  
  
“Nothing,” Gibbs admitted, shaking his head as he remembered just how distant the boy had seemed. He _really_ didn’t like where this was going.  
  
Tony frowned. Clearly his mind was running along a similar track and he didn’t like where it was taking him any more than Gibbs did.  
  
“We should check the other rooms for blood and gunpowder,” Ziva suggested pragmatically as Ducky began to load the body onto the gurney.  
  
“Get to it,” Gibbs barked, and then, unable to resist the temptation, followed it up with: “DiNozzo, you’re with me.”  
  
Tony, who’d been turning to follow Ziva, spun neatly around to follow Gibbs instead, the move so graceful that, despite the fact that the move should have looked slightly ridiculous, it didn’t.  
  
With Tony sharp on his six, he made his way back to the ambulance where Simone was still sitting placidly. Someone had been thoughtful enough to hand her a cup of steaming hot tea, though she seemed more intent on staring into it than actually drinking it.  
  
“Mrs Witt and Nathan are both fine,” the ambulance officer assured them when they approached, talking primarily to Tony as Gibbs had already been told as much.  
  
“Can we take them back to HQ?” Gibbs demanded which, right now, was really all he cared about.  
  
“Of course,” the woman allowed and, taking that as a cue to step in, Tony gently began ushering Mrs Witt and her son into their car.  
  
They didn’t speak at all as he drove, both reluctant to say anything in front of two people who, much as Gibbs hated to admit it, were suspects. Tony got a call when they were about halfway back, conversing in soft whispers before hanging up and leaning over to breath the information into Gibbs ear.  
  
“The boy’s room is the primary crime scene,” he barely spoke the words at all they were so quiet, “The blood there was scrubbed clean with bleach before Mrs Witt made the 911 call.”  
  
Tony leant away to settle himself back in his chair and Gibbs flicked his eyes over to watch the motion, his lips firming as he considered the information Tony had just given him. It had pretty much confirmed what he’d already begun to suspect and, ruthlessly, Gibbs mentally swore as colourfully as he knew how.  
  
It didn’t make him feel any better.  
  
He pulled into Headquarters sharply and the two of them herded Mrs Witt and Nathan though security. Mrs Witt didn’t say a single word as Gibbs led her into an interrogation room to await questioning, leaving Tony behind to find an available social worker who’d be able to take care of Nathan’s rights.  
  
He made sure Mrs Witt was comfortable before closing the interrogation door behind him. Then, rather than return immediately to the bullpen, he leant against the nearest wall and took a deep breath.  
  
These were the sort of cases he usually thrived on but he just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be doing this. For the first time in years, he resented a case so intense and wished fiercely that they’d caught something that didn’t hit all his vulnerable points. With his instincts screaming at him to do one thing, and with being constantly reminded of the fact that Tony was collarless, he really didn’t feel up to this right now.  
  
A social worker entered the hallway, ushering a pliant child towards the second interrogation room and, at the visual reminder of the case, Gibbs shook himself out of his funk and made his way downstairs to see what Ducky had for him.  
  
All it did was confirm what he already knew.  
  
Back in the bullpen, he found his whole team already assembled and, as per usual, launched right into the thick of it.  
  
“The TOD was a full hour before Mrs Witt made the 911 call,” he told them, feeling furious, on edge, and utterly sick, “And the entry wound suggests he was shot from a low vantage point.”  
  
Tony swore loudly, though from the expression on his face he’d seen it coming. Ziva’s eyes flittered away, looking honestly hearbroken. Gibbs was sure he heard her mutter a short Hebrew prayer under her breath.  
  
Only Tim, the greenest of them, looked puzzled. Taking pity, Tony gently explained what the rest of them already knew.  
  
“The child is the murderer,” Tony said gently, shaking his head, “Jesus Christ. I hate cases like this.”  
  
“He shot his own father?” Tim paraphrased with dawning horror.  
  
“Which makes him one of two things,” Ziva picked up the explanation softly, “Psychotic or abused.”  
  
“Maybe it was an accident?” Tim suggested tentatively.  
  
“He was shot twice,” Tony reminded him, “and they took an hour to clean up afterwards. This was many things, but it wasn't an accident. Did I mention I hate these cases?”  
  
Gibbs could relate.  
  
“DiNozzo, I want you to talk to Mrs Witt,” Gibbs told him sharply, “Get the truth out of her. What's the kid's name?”  
He already knew, and Tony knew that he knew. He also knew that his asking was merely a way of telling Tony where he’d be. By the way his expression softened, Tony clearly got the message.  
  
“Nathan,” he relied quietly.  
  
Gibbs nodded a sharp thanks, knowing Tony would understand what it was for, before turning and striding purposefully away, feeling to his bones that he could trust Tony to take the lead and distribute everyone else in the team as needed. In fact, he knew without asking that Tim would end up working with Abby and Ziva would be given a stack of paperwork to sort out.  
  
Meanwhile, Gibbs had a child to talk to.  
  
Nathan was sitting as though made of stone. Surrounded on all sides by an environment as blank and sterile as he was, his eyes were focused somewhere beyond the mirror and his hands were folded loosely in his laps. He made no sign he even noticed Gibbs entering the room and taking a seat –made no sign that he was aware of anything at all. It was quite possible he was so traumatized by what he’d done that he’d gone into a state of cationic shock but, looking at him, Gibbs didn’t believe that. His gut was telling him that the child before him was capable of speech, was capable of interaction. He was merely choosing not to.  
  
“I know what you did Nathan,” Gibbs began, “We found the gun buried in your backyard and the blood in your room. I know that you shot your father. What I don’t know is why.”  
  
Nathan didn’t even blink. Leaning forward slightly, Gibbs pitched his voice low and soothing.  
  
“I’ll listen to what you have to say, Nathan,” Gibbs promised gently, “You don’t have to be scared or afraid of me. I just want to know the truth. If you tell me the truth, I can try my best to keep you safe.”  
  
That didn’t get a reaction either. It wasn’t as though Nathan was purposefully ignoring him… it was more like what he had to say was of so little account that Nathan couldn’t be bothered replying. He might as well have been conversing with a brick wall.  
  
“I need you to talk to me Nathan,” Gibbs urged, “If you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you. You’ll be charged with murder. Which means, at best, you’ll be taken away from your mother and given psychological treatment and, at worst, means that you’ll be sent to a juvenile detention centre. Is that what you want?”  
  
Nathan blinked slowly, his breath steady and unencumbered. He wasn’t trembling, wasn’t sweating, wasn’t swallowing sporadically. He looked utterly calm, as though he was totally at peace, as though he hadn’t a single worry in the world. It went against everything Gibbs knew about dealing with children.  
  
The children he usually brought into this room were usually loved and cherished. Most often they’d seen something horrible and Gibbs would need to reassure them to tease that knowledge out. He couldn’t do that here. Nathan wasn’t a witness and he wasn’t a spoiled child. He was a murderer.  
  
The door to the interrogation room opened and, distracted, Gibbs looked to see Tony enter the room. His Second didn’t speak as he walked up to Gibbs. He merely lay a single hand on his shoulder and tilted his head, asking a silent question.  
  
Gibbs hesitated, looking at Tony shrewdly. He knew Tony, knew him like he knew his own self, and so he knew what Tony planned to do. Tony was going to approach Nathan on the assumption that he was abused child and the only way to do that would be to reveal his own status as one. Gibbs, who knew enough about Tony’s childhood to know it had been bad but not enough to know how or why, felt both privileged and fiercely overprotective. He knew what a big moment this would be for him and so he nodded and vacated his seat, retreating the corner of the room where he kept a silent vigil over his Senior Agent.  
  
Tony sat at once, slouching down in such a way that Nathan was forced to meet his gaze. They sat like that for a long moment, a frozen tableau with neither party gaining the upper hand. Which couldn’t be true, there must have been _something_ , because quite abruptly, Tony spoke.  
  
“My name is Tony,” Tony began, his voice soft but utterly emotionless, “And I know exactly what happened.”  
  
Nathan didn’t move. Still, it was obvious that Tony saw something because a hint of triumph flashed through his eyes.  
  
“You doubt me,” Tony declared, “You think no one could possibly know. Could possibly understand. But I do. Shall I tell you the story?”  
  
Nathan didn’t reply to this but it seemed that Tony wasn’t expecting one. It had also become obvious that he was seeing something in Nathan that Gibbs had not, perhaps even something that Gibbs could not. Though that skill would clearly come in handy, Gibbs would have traded it in an instant if it meant that Tony could have had a happier childhood.  
  
“It started young. Very young. But you still remember the first time.” Tony began and, despite the lack of emotion there it was as certain as steal, “It kept you up all night and you didn't know what to think at first. You didn't know what it meant. You thought maybe it was your fault, maybe you had done something wrong. You came close to telling your mother – no, you didn't even consider it, did you? You might have entertained the notion but you never came close. She couldn't understand.  
  
“How long did it last, Nathan? How long was it before you realized it would never end? Before the dread of waiting for the footsteps down the hall and the turning of the doorknob turned into a determination for it to stop? How long before you caught the glimpse of your father's gun and remembered that one of the ways to kill a vampire was to pierce their heart? How long before –”  
  
“Stop it,” Nathan whispered, the first words he’d spoken in hours. When he raised his hands, as though trying to ward Tony off, they were trembling. “Please.”  
  
“What did he do Nathan?” Tony pushed, not backing down in the least, “I need to hear you say it.”  
  
“Why do you care?” Nathan demanded angrily, half panicked, “How do you know these things?”  
  
“You think that because you've suffered that no one else can know the depth of that suffering,” Tony answered and, bizarrely, began rolling up his sleeves, “But that's not true. You're not the only one with scars.”  
  
He lay his arms flat on the table, palms up. Curious, Gibbs adjusted his line of sight to better see what Tony was tracing and felt his heart shudder to a halt. Each of Tony’s forearms were marked with a long scar, so faint that had Tony not been tracing them, Gibbs would have missed them completely.  
  
“My mother gave me these,” Tony said absently and the lack of pain in his voice made it somehow worse, “She was screaming something about bleeding the foulness out of me. My mother wasn't entirely sane and if my father hadn't interrupted her I would have bled to death.”  
  
“How old were you?” Nathan asked curiously, reaching forward to touch one of the scars.  
  
“Seven,” Tony admitted.  
  
Hearing that, Gibbs closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to lose his temper. Nor was it appropriate to accost his second in command and press him into the metal table.  
  
“Your father?” Nathan wondered and wasn’t that a good fucking question? If Gibbs ever saw DiNozzo Sr. again, the man likely wouldn’t walk away intact.  
  
“Loved her,” Tony returned, shrugging easily. Gibbs bit back a growl. “He took me to hospital, paid for the surgery to cover the scars as much as was possible and drugged my mother with enough medication to make an elephant groggy. Not that it helped much. She pushed me down the stairs two weeks later.”  
  
Nathan shook his head and began to cry. Gibbs felt a faint prick of pain and looked down to see he’d been clenching his hands so tightly that he’d punctured the skin. He took another breath. If Tony could stand to talk about this then, goddamn it, he could stand to listen.  
  
“What happened to her?” Nathan managed through his tears, “Did you... did you kill her?”  
  
“I didn't have to,” Tony denied, “She died in a car accident when I was ten.”  
  
Gibbs had to literally bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something inappropriate. Silently, he counted backwards from ten. It didn’t help.  
  
“I –” Nathan began, shuddering, “My father. He –he touched me at night. Would whisper things in my ear as he did it. I tried to block it out, to make up stories in my head or pretend it wasn't happening, you know? And then I saw the gun and I decided to make it so he'd never touch me again.”  
  
The child lost it completely at that, dissolving into a flurry of tears. Usually, Gibbs would be feeling furious on the child’s behalf but, for the life of him, all he could see were the marks on Tony’s arms. The marks his _mother_ had carved into his skin. The monster within his chest mourned her death –it would have taken great joy in tearing the woman limb from limb for ever _daring_ to harm what was his.  
  
The social worker pulled the child into a firm embrace and, abruptly, Tony got to his feet and all but ran for the door, his body brushing past Gibbs’ as he went. Gibbs felt that incidental touch down to his very bones, felt it in a hundred thousand different places. Then Tony was gone, out the door, and Gibbs was left with an ache that seemed to reach his very soul.  
  
Gibbs hesitated. He knew he should stay here. He knew he should deal with the crying child, give Tony his space. There would be time to peruse Tony later, after all. The man wasn’t going anywhere.  
  
So said the rational part of his brain. The rest of Gibbs wasn’t paying it any mind. It was insisting he go after his mate, case be damned.  
  
Gibbs was usually a pro at ignoring his baser instincts… but Tony had been teasing him all day. Had been pushing, in fact, for the last ten years. It probably wasn’t beyond his capacity to ignore them but, honestly, Gibbs didn’t even bother trying. He left the child and the social worker where they sat, and went to track Tony down.  
  
Thankfully, it wasn’t hard. Tony hadn’t bolted far –merely around the corner. He wasn’t alone, however. Was, in fact, turned slightly away from Gibbs and conversing amicably with Nathan Reynolds.  
  
“Hey, I’ve got time,” Reynolds was saying gently, “Why don't we go get some coffee together? You look as though you need someone to take care of and spoil you right now.”  
  
Gibbs felt a fury so profound the whole world seemed to waver.  
  
Worse, _worse_ than Reynolds daring to presume that _he_ could be the one to spoil Tony, was the utter look of longing on Tony’s face. Gibbs _knew_ that he was about to accept.  
  
Which, frankly, was utterly unacceptable.  
  
Gibbs found himself moving without being entirely conscious of it. One moment he was eavesdropping shamelessly, the next he was surging forward to press himself against the warmth of Tony’s back. Tony jerked against him in surprise, turning his head and looking utterly mystified. Gibbs ignored him, choosing instead to wrap a possessive arm around his waist and drawing in a deep lungful of his scent. The sweetness of it only served to fuel his fury and, drawing on that, Gibbs pegged Nathan with the most vicious look he could muster, baring his fangs and snarling dangerously, just _daring_ the other vampire to try and make a claim for his soon-to-be-mate.  
  
The guy retreated so quickly Gibbs could swear he saw a Nathan-sized hole in the air.  
  
“Er…boss?” Tony wondered hesitantly.  
  
Gibbs ignored him. Subconsciously, Tony had risen a hand to trace along Gibbs’ arm and the motion once again brought his scars back into Gibbs’ line of sight. This time, however, Gibbs managed to control his rage. With something as precious as Tony in his grasp, he couldn’t afford to lash out and risk harming him accidently.  
  
“How did I never notice this?” he muttered angrily to himself. He’d worked with Tony for over ten years, had even seen the other man naked, and yet the scars had passed him by completely. Some investigator he was.  
  
“They’re well hidden?” Tony tried, almost rhetorically.  
  
The idea that Tony had felt it necessary to hide them made Gibbs growl softly. He wished it was possible to go back in time and whisk a young Tony DiNozzo away, protect him from all harm. As it was, he was going to have to settle for making absolutely fucking certain that nothing and no one ever harmed him again. Filled with determination and a love so fierce it was almost crippling, Gibbs lay his cheek gently against Tony’s own and butted against him softly, all but nuzzling him. As attuned to Tony as he was, every particle of his being felt Tony’s gasp, felt Tony’s heart begin to race.  
  
“Gibbs?” Tony wondered, turning from Gibbs’ touch to look at him properly.  
  
Finding himself deprived of one touch, Gibbs instead moved to claim another. Taking advantage of Tony’s upturned face, Gibbs closed the scant distance between them and pressed their lips together.  
  
He didn’t give Tony a chance to respond. Instead, he plundered Tony’s mouth ruthlessly, telling Tony without words (because, let’s face it, he was never really good with them) that Tony belonged to him. He conveyed every promise he could in that kiss: keeping it firm but gentle, thorough but merciless, shared but utterly _taken_.  
  
For a blissful moment, Tony yielded to him, his sub self recognising the love, and trust and safety and ownership entailed in the kiss. But then that moment and Tony pulled away with a startled gasp, looking around them frantically. Though why he should care if anyone saw them was beyond Gibbs.  
  
“They'll know your mine eventually anyway,” Gibbs pointed out nonchalantly, breathing quietly across the shell of Tony’s ear, “It'll be hard to deny when you wear my mark.”  
  
Partly to get his point across and partly because he was every inch a bastard, Gibbs licked his tongue along the pale expanse of Tony’s neck.  
  
Tony made a choked-off noise, something between a moan and a question. It was the way Tony continued to lean against him, however, the way his body was all but singing as he stood there, that told Gibbs everything he needed to know. Seeing that capitulation, something inside Gibbs relaxed and, drawing a deep breath, he managed to bring himself under control. He knew now that he could afford to be patient.  
  
“Not now,” Gibbs allowed, though the thought of claiming Tony right here and now was very tempting. Just the look on Vance’s face would be worth any later embarrassment. “Come to my place after work –if your answer is yes, of course.”  
  
He couldn’t resist that parting shot and, smirking, he left Tony standing in that hallway alone, making his way back to his desk and taking a seat. Someone, somewhere, was playing Christmas song and, not even trying to hide his smile, Gibbs mused that he must have been good this year. He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted.  
  
He didn’t even care that Tony was all but useless the rest of the day, clearly distracted and staring at Gibbs so overtly that Gibbs wondered how the man managed to undercover so effortlessly. He was being anything but subtle. Still, Gibbs couldn’t help but be smug as hell, secure in the knowledge that he was the reason Tony was so flustered right now. It made the afternoon pass that much faster.  
  
Not to mention it was amusing as hell.  
  
“Pack it in people,” Gibbs announced the second the clock hit five-thirty. It went against the grain to actually let his people off on time but, just this once, he could make an exception.  
  
Tony stumbled to his feet, as ungraceful as Gibbs had ever seen him and Gibbs couldn’t help shooting the man a dark smile as he went.  
  
Ziva and McGee were a little slowly to pack up, looking a little suspicious as they did so as though they expected Gibbs to suddenly change his mind and handcuff them both to their desks.  
  
But there was only one person Gibbs wanted to handcuff to a large solid object and his name was Tony DiNozzo. Sweeping his desk clean, Gibbs took off. He hurried down the stairs and into his car where he proceeded to break every driving regulation in the book and then some.  
  
Tony wasn’t there (yet) so Gibbs settled himself in the living room to wait. Well, not so much ‘settle’ as ‘pace the room restlessly over and over’. Some indiscernible time later, a creak of wood on the balcony set ever molecule of Gibbs stand up and take notice. Seconds later, the door opened and then closed again. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Gibbs went to greet him.  
  
“Tony,” Gibbs managed, his heart unclenching. It was only then that he understood that not every part of him had been entirely confident that Tony would come.  
  
“I’m not saying yes,” Tony cautioned abruptly, biting his lip and looking uncharacteristically uncertain, “Not yet. I want to know what the question is first.”  
  
“I want you to be mine,” Gibbs shrugged, trying to appear at ease when he really felt anything but, “I want you to bare my Mark.”  
  
“Why now?” Tony demanded, eyeing Gibbs shrewdly.  
  
“I was waiting for you to be ready,” Gibbs replied honestly.  
  
For a moment, Tony looked as though he was about to argue but he stopped himself pre-emptively and instead raised a hand to his neck, clearly lost in thought.  
  
“I never thought I could have this,” Tony said at last, raising his eyes to meet Gibbs’ own head on.  
  
Gibbs, knowing there was more, merely met Tony’s eyes steadily and waited.  
  
“Most people don’t rush right into claiming,” Tony pointed out, “Shouldn’t we wait?”  
  
It was because of this not-quite-protest that Gibbs knew that, by the end of the night, Tony would be his. A small part of him knew there was sense in what Tony was saying but the rest, the part of him that was dominated by his vampire instincts, knew that waiting any longer would only drive him crazy. Seeing Tony without a mark would be a constant reminder that he wasn’t officially under Gibbs protection which meant that anyone could claim him or harm him without repercussions. To Gibbs, that simple wasn’t acceptable.  
  
“For what?” Gibbs demanded right back, “We've waited a decade, Tony. We'll never know each other better than we do in this moment. And everything I know about you, I love.”  
  
Tony started, thrown off by the easy declaration of love. Something half longing, half fear flashed through his eyes and Gibbs told himself to take care, to chose his words carefully.  
  
“I know you’re scared,” Gibbs said gently, reaching out a hand and drawing Tony close. He always explained himself better through actions than through words, after all, and Tony needed to know this was the real deal. “But you don’t need to be. I’ll look after you.”  
  
So saying, Gibbs nuzzled Tony’s collarbone, resisting the temptation to kiss it. Tony rewarded him by tilting his head and giving him more skin with which to play with. Gibbs, of course, took blatant advantage.  
  
“I love you,” Tony breathed, as though just realizing it then. Gibbs felt a pang of fondness. Trust Tony to be utterly clueless as to his own feelings. Then again, perhaps he hadn’t dared to hope. Gibbs knew a thing or two about that.  
  
“Is that a yes?” Gibbs asked, nipping Tony’s skin lightly to remind the man exactly what he was asking. Bonding was forever, after all. Tony had to be certain.  
  
“Yes,” Tony agreed breathily and Gibbs felt triumph flood through him like a wave.  
  
“Good,” Gibbs muttered, tightening his hold on Tony further, “Was driving me crazy seeing you without a collar and knowing someone else could try and stake a claim.”  
  
Tony let out a huff of laughter so soft that Gibbs felt it more than he heard it.  
  
“Jealous bastard,” he said, more a statement than an accusation.  
“Of course,” Gibbs agreed unrepentantly. More than anything else, Tony had to know that screwing around with anyone else would be unwise to the extreme. Unless he wanted the other vampire dead. “Your mine.”  
  
Or at least, he would be in a matter of hours. Feeling a fission of impatience, Gibbs began to lead the both of them upstairs. Tony went willingly though Gibbs could see how nervous he was. Any residual anger he’d been feeling from the remanets of the day faded completely. Their bed wasn’t the place for ghosts.  
  
The moment they were in the room, Gibbs pulled Tony back into his arms and kissed him firmly, determined to banish whatever second thoughts the man had. While he knew exactly how perfect they’d be together he also knew he had to prove himself to the other submissive. The last thing he wanted right now was a fight for dominance and, thus, his kiss had to be thorough enough to leave no space for one.  
  
A long moment later, Tony relaxed utterly in his arms, tilting his head up to better allow Gibbs to ravish him and pressing against Gibbs as close as was possible. Heat rushed through him them and suddenly just Tony’s lips weren’t enough. He needed more –needed _everything_.  
  
“I knew when I met you,” he whispered hotly, his fingers reaching for Tony’s shirt and making quick work of the buttons there, “I knew then that we'd fit together. I could never have imagined how well.”  
  
Tony’s eyes were absolutely glowing. He was the sort of sub, Gibbs knew, that responded to praise like a flower to the sun. As though to further emphasize this, Tony tugged Gibbs’ shirt from out of his pants and dragged it over his head. Gibbs parted only long enough to allow the motion before returning back to Tony with a vengeance, this time going for Tony’s jeans. Tony quickly reciprocated and, in a matter of moments, the both of them were utterly naked and pressed flush together, skin against skin. Gibbs palmed Tony’s ass and Tony made a noise, arching into Gibbs firmly and letting the other man feel the strength of his erection.  
  
“Tell me you want this,” Gibbs asked him intently. Though it was quite obvious that the other man did, Gibbs was not one to take anything for granted and Tony’s consent was absolutely essential.  
  
“I want this,” Tony replied at once, tugging Gibbs back onto the bed with him, “More than anything.”  
  
Looking at Tony, laid out and hard beneath him, Gibbs wondered how the hell he’d gotten so lucky. He definitely didn’t deserve such a gift… but he wasn’t against taking advantage regardless.  
  
Reaching over to his bedside table, Gibbs dug out the lube, leaving the condoms where they lay. He knew they were both clean and, besides, this was a claiming. No one else would ever touch Tony again.  
  
Feeling a surge of wonder sweep through him at the knowledge and the realization that this was actually happening, Gibbs found himself unable to wait a moment longer and turned to Tony with intent written clearly on his face. Tony parted his legs without being asked, baring himself wide open to Gibbs’ touch and Gibbs made a low sound of approval, lowering a hand and working a single finger into Tony’s channel.  
  
The noise Tony made went straight to his cock. Putting his other hand into play, Gibbs set to work discovering what other sounds he could force through Tony’s lips. It was akin to learning how to play a very elaborate instrument by touch alone. Every sound Gibbs was rewarded with was carefully memorised and experimentally produced over and over and over again until Gibbs was certain he could call it forth at his whim.  
  
Tony was soon rendered into a boneless puddle: sweating, panting and so hard he was leaking. He was speaking, a long string of words that seemed to consist mostly of _‘please’_ , _‘there’_ , _‘god’_ and _‘Gibbs’_. Together they didn’t seem to be in any sort of order of make any sort of sense but, alone, they all conveyed the message Tony was trying to get across quite well. Gibbs took great delight in ignoring his pleading and continuing to torture him ruthlessly with pleasure.  
  
Still, Gibbs was only human and he could only hold out for so long. When Tony began to actually sob under him, arching up so sharply it looked physically painful and looking as gorgeous as Gibbs had ever seen him, Gibbs finally relented. Withdrawing his fingers Gibbs lined himself up, his own arousal almost inconsequential in the scheme of things. Tony was all that mattered right now. Tony was his sky, his moon, his world, his universe. As he pushed forward, it was Tony that spread himself wide in welcome, pulling him in with a heat so delicious that Gibbs felt it all the way to his toes. Their eyes met and Gibbs was astounded by how very green Tony’s eyes were. How all encompassing. If he hadn’t been utterly lost before then, he was now.  
  
Tony could have asked for anything right then and Gibbs would have moved mountains to get it for him.  
  
He held himself there for a long moment, just revelling in where he was before his own mounting passion finally got the better of him and he began to thrust.  
  
So much of their day thus far had been rushed and brutal. With this in mind, Gibbs kept their lovemaking fluid but gentle, wanting to show Tony just how precious he was. Tony began twisting under him, trying to goad him into picking up the pace but Gibbs was not to be rushed. This wasn’t sex, this was making love. This was a claiming. Apart from wanting to show Tony just what the other man meant to him he also wanted to stress that Tony hadn’t any control here. His job was to surrender, to trust that Gibbs would take care of him.  
  
“Gibbs,” Tony breathed, begging and clearly not surrendering to Gibbs’ will at all. “Jethro. Jethro, please.”  
  
Gibbs shuddered. Hearing Tony say his name –his name –was beyond compare. Gibbs was sure he hadn’t heard a sound as sweet since he’d held little Kelly in his arms and listened to her cry. The desire to surge forward, to take and claim, was almost overwhelming. Almost.  
  
Gibbs kept us his steady thusts, not faltering in the least. Eventually Tony stopped struggling against him, stopped pushing. Eventually, he merely went pliant beneath his hands, tilting his head to bare his neck and submitting completely to Gibbs’ will.  
  
It was then that Gibbs knew he was ready. Calling his fangs forth, Gibbs loomed over his submissive and licked along Tony’s neck, tasting the bittersweet sweat there. Tony shivered underneath him, visibly on a razors edge as he lay there, waiting. Gibbs didn’t leave him hanging. He pressed a kiss against the flesh and, using that as a precursor, sank in his teeth.  
  
Tony gasped, his body bowing, trying in vain to break himself free. Gibbs held him down ruthlessly, not yielding an inch. Finally, Tony shock apart beneath him, coming for a long shuddering minute before going docile. Feeling his submissive tightening around his cock as he came, tasting his life force on his tongue, Gibbs himself was pushed over the edge. Removing his fangs gently, he gasped for breath as he jerked instinctively inside Tony, spilling his seed.  
  
Tony reached a hand for his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Yielding easily, Gibbs gave him one, long and sweet and tender, taking advantage of the distraction it provided to pull himself free. Breaking his mouth away, Gibbs drew Tony close and rolled onto his back, unobtrusively encouraging Tony to use him as a personal pillow.  
  
“Are you alright?” Gibbs checked, running a soothing hand up and down Tony’s back and slowly regaining his breath.  
  
“Yeah,” Tony assured him, “I’m fine.”  
  
To Gibbs displeasure, however, seconds after declaring as such, Tony detached himself from Gibbs’ arm and made his way clumsily to the bathroom. Knowing exactly what the younger man planned to do, Gibbs couldn’t quite resist the temptation to follow.  
  
He leant against the bathroom door and watched as Tony observed himself, baring his neck to the mirror and raising a hand to the newly made mark there. Gibbs, taking in his handiwork with a fair amount of pride, noticed that it had already started to heal, flecks of silver littered amongst all the red. That it was already healing, already turning silver, told Gibbs that the connection between then would be a strong one. They would likely get a degree of telepathy along with it, which suited Gibbs just fine. Tony got into trouble far too often to suit him and it would be nice to know the instant that it happened. Not to mention having his own personal GPS for Tony’s whereabouts.  
  
But most of all, _best of all_ , it marked Tony as utterly, completely, undeniably _his_.  
  
“Suits you,” Gibbs said smugly, something inside him relaxing as he gazed his fill.  
  
“You would think that,” Tony bitched good-naturedly, reaching a hand up to touch the mark and flinching very slightly at the contact. As red as it was, Gibbs was sure it hurt like hell. Despite that, Gibbs couldn’t help but smile. Tony, seeing this and knowing him far too well, narrowed his eyes dangerously.  
  
“Be smug now,” Tony warned, with a hint of satisfaction, “You're the one who'll have to explain things when we return to work tomorrow.”  
  
Gibbs grimaced despite himself. He hid his feelings better than anyone else on earth and, thus, he doubted very much that anyone had suspected what he’d felt for Tony went far beyond what he portrayed on the surface. Suddenly turning up with Tony as his claimed submissive would create utter chaos. Abby probably explode.  
  
Tony laughed at his expression and rolling his eyes, Gibbs decided he’d better get used to being bound to someone who had the mental age of a three year old.  
  
“Come back to bed,” he ordered gruffly, holding out a hand.  
  
Tony obeyed, his eyes bright with happiness, his scar growing more silver by the second. Dragging him away from the bathroom, Gibbs felt finally at peace. Before this moment it had seemed as though there had always been a strong and steady whisper at the back of his mind, demanding that he clai m Tony as his own. Having the man firmly in his arms, leading him back to bed, that voice had finally been silenced.  
  
Tony was his.

**Author's Note:**

> More to this universe is comming soon. If you read, please review.


End file.
